Page 67 of Over the Emerald Valley
CHAPTER23
Solon
Grapplingwith Abasi now felt almost like grappling with any other man.
Power flowed through Solon’s veins like lightning crackled across the sky. Rage colored his every thought red. Hunger drove him mad with its low, pulsing ache deep in his belly.
Solon was ravenous.
And Abasi was stupid. He’d nearly evened their odds by transforming Solon into…whatever sort of monster he’d turned into. With this demonic gift, combined with a career’s worth of battle experience and hand-to-hand combat, he stood a chance against the viceroy.
An obstacle remained in his path. How did one kill a demon?
He had one idea, an idea Abasi himself had given him, and if that didn’t work, he’d tear the viceroy apart limb by limb if he had to. But first, he had to know Temaj was all right.
Temaj lay crumpled against the wall, but Solon heard his even breathing and the steady pounding of his heart. What? Since when were such things so easily audible? Everything was different now.
Solon wrestled Abasi to the ground and delivered a vicious kick to his skull. Neku wielded the knife like a butcher with fresh meat, so Solon stole a moment to check on Temaj.
Beneath the hair hanging over his face, his eyes were closed. Solon brushed the stray locks behind his ear and swiped a thumb over his wet cheeks. He’d been crying.
“Hey, wake up.” Solon held his face in his hands, but Temaj didn’t stir. Checking his pulse, even though the thrumming sound of blood rushing through his veins called to him as if a three-course meal awaited somewhere in his jugular, Solon assured himself Temaj was alive. Then he dove back into the fray.
Abasi bled from multiple wounds but had gained the upper hand—and the dagger. He stalked toward Neku with the look of a killer.
Not on my watch.“Leave him out of this, Abasi. This is between us.”
Abasi spun. Neku’s eyes stayed on him warily.
“You are my progeny and shall do as I say!” Abasi pointed a jeweled finger at his chest.
“Like you did? When you killed the one who made you?”
“He was weak.”
“And you’re an arrogant fool.”
Abasi, though angry as a cornered alley cat, had the sense to look cautious, as if only now realizing what he’d done. “You need me. Who else will teach you about what you’ve become?”
Solon squared his shoulders and rolled his neck. He felt different. Reborn. But he wouldn’t trust a word of Abasi’s teachings, and he wouldn’t fall for that argument.
“All I need,” said Solon, cracking his knuckles, “is for you to die.”
Abasi snarled and attacked first.
Solon was ready. When Abasi moved lightning fast, so did Solon. His reflexes sparked to life in time to dodge the attack and counter with a fist driven into the viceroy’s gut.
Abasi grunted and grabbed his belly.
“Neku, the chair,” said Solon. “Throw it to me.”
Neku dashed to the side and grabbed the wooden chair. Abasi recovered enough to watch this exchange, questions in his eyes. Then he attacked, this time with the knife, throwing it at Solon’s chest while his hands were full.
The blade struck his collarbone, slashing the skin, but the angle was wrong for penetration. The weapon fell to the ground.
Solon caught the chair and smashed it against the stone wall, keeping one shattered piece of wood with a jagged end.
Abasi slammed into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. But it didn’t matter. Not when he was as strong as ten men. The wound, the impact, the viceroy fisting a handful of his hair to take control of his head—none of it mattered.
